‘Ill?’ Vindex’s expression did not change, until with the tiniest twitch of his legs he sent his horse straight into a canter. Crescens gaped, unsure what to do.

The Brigantian brought his big bay horse to a dead stop in front of the water trough, pushed up from the saddle and jumped down in one fluid movement. As he strode up to the centurion’s quarters, the mare was already lapping water. The Britons leading the pack horses followed him, ignoring the Roman soldiers as they followed their leader. Bare legs, shoeless and filthy, swung slowly from side to side as the leading mount passed the line of soldiers.

‘I need to see the centurion.’ Vindex’s deep voice echoed around the small courtyard.

‘My Lord Ferox regrets that he is unable to receive visitors.’ That was Philo, the centurion’s slave, a sleek easterner who looked far too civilised for a place like this.

‘I need to see the regionarius,’ the Brigantian repeated, his voice still loud. ‘And I need to see him now.’

‘I am sorry, my Lord Vindex, but that is not possible.’

The Thracian was at the right of the line of soldiers, and could see the tall Briton towering over the little slave, thumbs looped in the belt of chains around his waist that supported his long sword. Philo’s skin was smooth and dark, his eyes such a deep brown that they were almost black. He wore no cloak, and his tunic was so bleached that the white shone. There did not seem to be a speck of dirt or dust anywhere on him, even though he stood in the mud in front of the doorway. He could not have been much more than a boy, barely five feet tall, and yet he stood firm against this barbarian who looked as if it would trouble him less to kill someone than waste time talking to them. The Thracian was impressed.

‘This is important.’ Vindex, the head scout, lowered his voice, although it still carried around the outpost.

‘I am sorry, my lord, truly sorry.’ Philo’s left hand gripped his right wrist and rubbed it, but this was the only sign of nervousness.

‘Which day is this?’ Vindex spoke softly now, and smiled, though in his cadaverous face it looked more like a leer.

Philo’s shoulders slumped and he clasped his hands together. ‘This will be the fourth day,’ he admitted.

Vindex grunted. He took a step forward and the slave straightened up again, still blocking the doorway. Crescens tried to force his way to join them, but was blocked by the two horses and the scout holding their reins.

‘Look, Greek,’ Vindex said, his tone combining reason with menace. ‘We both know that I am going in there and that you cannot stop me. Your master will not blame you.’ He was head and shoulders bigger than the slave, and at last Philo gave up and stepped aside. The Brigantian gestured to his remaining man to follow, pushed the door open and went inside.